I bought my groceries and stowed them in the Flex before heading to the café for a coffee treat and the almond croissant that nobody could make like Danielle. She filled my order quickly, and I could see her accounting papers spread in front of her laptop, so I didn’t engage her in a gossip update. I couldn’t handle any more gossip on my end anyway, and the juicy news I had, I could not share.
I moved to a corner table and, making use of the café Wi-Fi, checked email and then called the hospital in Traverse City. The phone in Charlie Aiken’s room went unanswered.
Looking out the window and across the street, I saw the Open sign at Dolls and More. It was time.
Sally called out a hello from the back room when the bells on the closing doors ceased their friendly chiming.
“Hi Sally,” I called back, heading toward the studio. Today she sat at a table, putting the finishing touches on a doll.
“Hi Abbie, how are you? Have you made those bunny slippers yet?”
I groaned. “No, the yarn is sitting there reproaching me, but it looks like I’ll be able to stay put for a while now, so I should get to it soon. I’m actually looking forward to making those.” After asking about her project, a fairy sprite of a figure, I asked, “Is Julia here?”
“No, she doesn’t come in until one on Tuesdays. Is there something I can help you with?”
“Oh, no thanks, I just needed to catch up with her. I’ll try her at the Leytons’. Thanks, Sal.”
The ride back home took me right by Sugarbush Road and the Leyton farm. It was normally a pleasure to visit this property, set on twenty acres and anchored by the custom home the Leytons had built, but today I was filled with dread. As I wound up the driveway, the berry field and pole barn came into view, and then the labyrinth and extensive manicured gardens, asleep now under a blanket of snow. Even in the dead of winter the farm looked beautiful.
I pulled into the circular driveway just as Julia, seated at the wheel of a midsize tractor, finished plowing snow from the cement apron connecting the driveway to the pole barn. She hadn’t seen me yet, and I watched as she reversed the tractor through the open doors of the barn and parked it. I sucked in a deep breath and exhaled sharply, feeling perspiration blossom under all my layers of clothing despite the cold.
A moment later, Julia emerged. When she saw me stepping out of my car, she stopped, then turned to close the barn doors before walking toward me. She looked down at the freshly plowed driveway, then back up at me.
“Hi Julia,” I said. She had stopped far enough away from me that a hug seemed out of order, so I quelled that urge. “It’s been quite a last few days, hasn’t it?” Lame!
“Why didn’t you just ask me for a DNA sample? I already had one, you know.” Her abrupt bitterness stopped me. I groped for something to say, for an actual explanation in the tangle of emotions and thoughts that had woven around all the events of the last month.
“I came to you for help to figure this all out. I didn’t go behind your back and keep things from you like my parents did. You could have worked with me.” By now, anger and pain had constricted Julia’s throat and her voice had dropped nearly to a whisper.
“Maybe I should have done that,” I admitted. I was tempted to say more—You came to me out of the blue and dumped this in my lap. This is my life you’ve disrupted—but I could see from her hunched posture and clenched mittens that raw hurt governed her understanding. I knew that look, that feeling.
“Look, Julia. You have every right to be upset, to be angry, and feel betrayed. There’s plenty of that to go around for all of us.” Julia shot a look at me, then dropped her gaze to the ground again and dug her boot toe into the scraped snow and ice. I forced myself to continue, searching for a way in through the barbed wire of her anger. “We could focus on that, and maybe it will take time for each of us to really work out what’s happened. But there are other ways to look at this situation. Steven’s pretty shocked, but I think he’s already more excited and fascinated than upset or angry. He wants to see you really badly. He’s willing to wait until you’re ready.” I stopped.
“What about you?” A spark of fierceness took over the pain in Julia’s blue eyes.
What about me? Behind the fierceness lay a real question—about Julia and me. I hesitated for a moment, then stepped forward and rested my hand on her arm. Her breath made short bursts of cloud between us.
“I’m fucking freezing,” I said. “Can we go in for a cup of tea?”
Chapter 25
Winter storms, a weeklong thaw, arctic cold, more snow, and Steven’s visit for three days formed the backdrop for my effort to plan a spring pruning for Charlie Aiken’s orchard. The days flew.
Steven arrived on a Thursday evening the week after I drove north. He and Julia both thought a brunch at our house on Saturday would work for a first contact. Of course, it wasn’t really a first contact at all; they had met on Thanksgiving weekend, and had chatted a good bit then. But that felt like a lifetime ago. Steven and I bristled with nervous energy all day Friday. After raising my three boys, I thought I had the rulebook for fielding situations with twenty-somethings fairly well in hand, but the sudden appearance of a twenty-five-year-old child, and a daughter to boot, made for new territory. I had the feeling that bringing Julia into our family would become defined by a sense of “pre and post,” the way we’d come to regard our house fire and other far-reaching family events.
I tried in vain to distract myself by charting out the sections of orchard I could prune during the March week for which Charlie had hired and borrowed help. Steven rattled around the house, looking for things to fix. By four o’clock Friday, we’d both given up and driven to the next town for an early movie and a cozy dinner. Steven didn’t want to discuss what to say to Julia the next morning. Unlike me, he rarely found value in planning interactions.
On Saturday morning I rose early and prepared my favorite brunch comfort food: an egg, cheese, and bread casserole. I added a fresh fruit bowl, strong coffee, and cinnamon rolls from Barb’s Bakery into the mix.
Julia arrived on time, and as she came through the mud-room, shedding her coat, Steven stood and reached for both her hands. It was a good move—not a hug, but an immediate, welcoming touch.
I stared at the two of them as they stood in front of me, and I don’t think I stopped staring for the next two hours. How had I gone so long without seeing the distinct resemblance between them? Distraction? Denial? Or was it that we simply don’t see what we aren’t looking for?
Julia’s hands—often the first thing I notice about a person—were long, slender, and strong-looking, just like Steven’s. They were both tall and lanky with slender arms and legs, though Julia’s posture was more erect and supported the lean, hard muscles of a rower, whereas Steven had the sloping shoulders of a man who bent over computers and leaned in toward clients. Julia’s long, loose, black curls reminded me with a stab of nostalgia how Steven’s wild hair had looked when I’d first met him in the post-hippy days of the 1980s. Now his curls had greyed and he kept them close-cropped. And although Julia’s blue eyes came from her mother’s side of the family, their soft, deep set matched Steven’s.
I served food and they talked, tentatively at first, and then in a rush, unleashing pent-up curiosity about each other—Julia’s family, her schooling, her interests, Steven’s work, more details about our children, and then, finally, the future. Julia had set in motion a momentous process, and in a few short weeks had found her way to a measured consideration of the possibilities that lay ahead. Steven seemed ready and willing to travel that road with her. My fascination with watching the Julia-and-Steven show unfolding in front of me alternated with a reserve born of resistance to disruption in my family and a feeling of separation. I had my own questions for Julia, but for now things were—rightfully—all about these two.
“You know, I asked you, when you first talked to me about all this, what you hoped to get out of finding Steven,” I finally ventured. “None of u
s understood the reality then, so now it’s really a question for all of us. How do you see this all working out? I mean, can you visualize what your connection with us will look like?” As my words died into silence, I heard their fuzzy, fretful tone. What did I really want to ask?
Julia had the answer she’d come for, and Steven had his enthusiasm, but the future of the various relationships still seemed like a blank slate to me. I wanted to know what each of them expected going forward, but in that moment I realized how ridiculous it was to expect a real answer from either one of them, let alone what my own answer might be.
I thought Steven would throw out some silly pun or joke. He routinely deflected conversation when things turned too psychological. Instead, he rose from the table, said, “Funny you should mention it,” and disappeared into the den.
When he returned, he was holding a small box. He placed it in front of Julia, his smile signaling to me that his gift pleased him, and that he believed it would provide some sort of answer to my question.
Julia’s eyes sparkled as she opened the box and withdrew a simple silver bangle bracelet. She and I leaned closer to read the inscription engraved with black ink: When you’ve got it, you’ve got it.
Julia looked up in confusion from Steven to me and then back to Steven. A jolt shot through my chest, sending a lump into my throat, as she slipped the silver circle onto her wrist.
When Steven didn’t say anything, I explained. “That’s an expression my Dad always used.” I cleared my throat but had to wait for the constriction of tears to loosen before I could continue. Maybe Steven was ready to share this intimate knowledge of my father, but my feelings were mixed. “When he died,” I continued, brushing my fingers over the engraved words, “my sister made bracelets for the whole family with that saying engraved on them.” I could feel Steven’s eyes on me, but I couldn’t look at him. “My father always celebrated family connection and believed in focusing on the gifts that come our way rather than the barriers.”
It surprised me that Steven had thought of sharing my father’s words and the cherished legacy they represented. I wished he’d talked to me first. But now he’d brought Julia into that kinship of bracelets, there was no going back. Clearly, as far as he was concerned, Julia was here to stay, and he saw no reason to waste any time before sharing with her this inner-family gift. I knew he only meant well. Still . . .
“This is a wonderful gift,” Julia said, reaching to put her hand on Steven’s. Then, searching my eyes, “I’d like to hear about your dad sometime. You must miss him.”
Tears rose again with alarming speed. I did not want to cry, so I threw a smile over the tears, blew out a clipped, “Yeah,” and cleared our dishes onto the counter. Then, with the brightest voice I could muster, I suggested, “How about a walk?”
Julia readily agreed, and Steven went to gather his outdoor gear. As though she’d done it in our kitchen a hundred times, Julia rinsed dishes and loaded the dishwasher while I put food away and wiped the table. I felt lost in a Kabuki dance, unable to summon the stylized steps to depict this drama we were enacting. On the surface, we were having a casual brunch with a new young friend, but the deeper subtext included a long-separated father and daughter, old and painful memories, longing for those now gone, and a confusing pathway to the future. I didn’t like when the pieces of my life didn’t lock securely into each other.
We set off on the footpath, packed down from use, melt, and refreezing. At first Julia and Steven loped in front, heads down, with their long strides, but almost immediately, Julia turned back to me, waiting for me to walk abreast of them. At every turn, it seemed, she wanted to check in, shepherding me into this new connection. I both appreciated and resisted the attention. Having worked so hard to manage this meeting, I found myself intermittently at a loss as to what my role should be.
The trail didn’t comfortably allow three bundled people to walk side by side, so I placed a mittened hand on each of their backs. “I’m right behind you. I can hear perfectly well.”
We continued across the old orchard, the aged apple trees silhouetted against a pewter sky. With new eyes, I found myself considering the pruning possibilities for these scattered old trees, and the more practical potential of clearing them and planting my own stand of cider apples.
As if she’d heard my thoughts, Julia asked, “These are all old apple trees, right?”
“Yep. I was just thinking about whether to try restoring them or to take them all out and plant a new orchard. I think I’ll try pruning and restoration this spring as an experiment. I’m certainly not ready to plant an orchard this year.” We were still walking at a decent clip and my last words were somewhat breathless. Perhaps I only imagined Steven’s hunching his shoulders a little more and quickening his pace. Dammit, why do I have to feel like every thought I have about this cider business takes a chunk out of his hide? And meanwhile, we’re trotting around the frozen countryside, working double-time to absorb this girl into our lives!
I tried to focus my thoughts in a more generous direction. After all, this young woman could be working hard to make all our lives miserable. She could be making the whole situation about her alone. Instead, she seemed attuned to each of us without simpering, to hold her own without sucking more than her share of the psychological oxygen from the air around us.
“When are you going to prune?” she asked tentatively. “I could help, maybe. I majored in environmental and biological sciences.”
Of course she did. Every other twenty-something kid did.
“I kind of focused on the botany and horticulture,” Julia continued. “I don’t know that much about fruit trees, but I’d be really interested to learn how to prune.” This Julia delivered with more energy. She stopped and turned back to me, while Steven plowed ahead.
I couldn’t help myself. I laughed. My efforts to hang back, to give Steven and Julia space to figure out who they were with each other on this first round, had resulted in Julia offering to assist me with pruning apple trees that Steven wanted nothing to do with. “Ahh, that might be kind of fun. You could get a head start in a couple of weeks when I work on the young trees at a friend of mine’s orchard. We’re going to need all the help we can get there. Then maybe we can work on this old stuff.”
Julia cocked her head with the lovely, sky-blue, knitted hat pulled down over her curls, and said, “Okay. That works.”
Steven had paused up ahead, and we resumed our walk, companionably silent, until we reached him.
I smiled at him. “How are we doing?” I asked.
Steven smiled but quipped, “Another innocent victim drafted into the cider project?”
Really? Was he listening? I turned to Julia.
“Actually, I’d love to help,” she said. “But would you mind if we keep all this new information—about us—to ourselves a little bit longer?” She stopped walking again. “Like, I know you have to tell your sons . . .” Her voice faded. I could see that the process had gotten ahead of her. Her leapfrogging emotions were taking her for a ride, just as mine were.
“Yeah,” I said, “let’s keep talking about that. I don’t think we’ve figured out how to go public with this, either.”
For the rest of the day, Steven couldn’t stop talking about how and when to tell our boys that they had a half sister. When Julia left, he wanted to just pick up the phone and call each of them immediately. I understood his urgency to inform them, but I wanted to see their faces, be in the same room with them, when they heard this news.
After we’d eaten a leisurely dinner, we retired to the sofa in the den, glasses of wine in hand and lights extinguished, to watch the moonlit fields of snow.
“You know, we talked about arranging a long weekend to go somewhere warm and take all the kids. Maybe we should do that sooner rather than later, and tell them when we’re all together.” Steven spoke tentatively, as if trying out the idea as the words came to him.
“I like that much better than calling each of th
em,” I said. “I don’t know if they’ll all be able to make it, but I think I remember everyone could get away the last weekend in March. Let’s try for that.” I bit my lip before adding, By then, I’ll have the pruning done. No sense in raising snakes to beat them down.
“Can you figure something out with them?” Steven asked. “I’ve got a huge case next week.”
I leaned my head back against the deep sofa cushions and closed my eyes. Sure I can do that. “Okay.”
“And are you sure you want to pull Julia into this cider business? That could add complication.”
I sat bolt upright and faced him directly. “She asked me, Steven. She’s interested. It may be a way for me to get to know her better. Please don’t try to micromanage my connection to her.” Before I could stop myself, I continued, “And I know you meant it in the best possible way, but you should have talked to me before giving Julia the bracelet. I felt a little blindsided.”
I felt Steven looking at me in the semi-darkness. He sighed deeply before answering, “Okay. I’m sorry. I didn’t mean to do that.”
The first week of March carried each of the weather elements from February and warmed them ten to twenty degrees. A brief thaw brought rain, and the refreezing a few days later caused treachery as meltwater became pools of glassy ice. Steven returned to Ann Arbor, and Julia took a week’s vacation to travel with her family. Her family. Fiona, Aaron, a younger brother, her grandmother—they are, in fact, a family.
I plunged into preparations for pruning Charlie’s orchard, working out different scenarios based on weather. I reviewed pruning techniques. I conferred with Charlie twice, now that he’d been released from the hospital to a rehab facility, and assured him that all eventualities had been accounted for. We both knew that all eventualities could never be accounted for, but he seemed less agitated in the face of my confidence.
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